Awkward
by Pointy Objects
Summary: A collection of one-shots focusing on that special time in every young person's life...when you generally have no idea what's going on. Enjoy!
1. Heat Wave

* * *

Working as an intern for a Medical Center has it's obvious advantages: free pens (both clicky-top and twisty-bottom), regular visits to the Vietnamese place across the street (for both my bosses and myself…the Beef Vermicelli is amazing…), and a 10 percent discount on prescriptions. Oh, and helping people. I can never get enough of that.

In regards to helping people, I'm happy to say that I've been able to use some of my medical experience in my own life. Sure, I haven't saved any lives yet, but I've _helped_. I know that when you have frostbite, you're not supposed to rub the frozen body part or run it under warm water, trying to "suck" venom out of a snakebite is pretty much useless, and that bites from other people can be just as dangerous as bites from animals.

Unfortunately, my colleagues, fellow interns, medical textbooks or any search engines ever invented, could have possibly helped me recover from this kind of shock. Granted, I was _somewhat _prepared for what may have been waiting for me in my room, seeing as this person was standing at my door not four minutes ago, wearing only a little more than they are wearing right now. I'm unsure if I should perform CPR on myself or elevate my feet.

"You're letting all the cold air out, football head."

Oh wow, this is actually happening…my nose should begin bleeding in about three…two…one…

Instead of spilling about a liter of O negative onto my carpet, I closed the door behind me and set the glass of ice water down next to Helga, who had taken up residence on my floor. My radio was on, the weatherman rambling on about the heat and safety hazards and whatnot. In reality, she was laying down on my floor, with her legs stretched out on my bed, and bent at the knees.

Now, as one of Helga's best and oldest friends, and as a red-blooded male, I've seen Helga's legs before. That wasn't the shock. The shock probably came from seeing so much of them. All at once. Our "friendship" was a…special one, but I was sure she wouldn't have appreciated my less than discreet staring. Moving across my room (which was cooler than the rest of the house, but still well above 80 degrees), I sat at my computer and turned on the internet browser, simply because I had little else to do.

"Thanks for letting me crash." Helga said, her eyes still closed and hair fanned out beneath her. Her face was calm and her breathing even, despite the heat. And how, you may ask, did I know that her breathing was even? Oh, yes, I must have forgotten to mention, in addition to wearing the shortest pink shorts that I've ever seen, Helga also wore a matching sports bra, revealing a tanned and firm midsection. And nothing else. What am I supposed to do when my charismatic, funny adorable best friend comes to me in the middle of an epic heat wave, complaining of her own home's tragic brown out, asking for some relief? I do what any good "friend" would do…I invite her inside and tell her to go up to my room.

"Did I have a choice?" I joked, hoping to quell some of my own nervousness.

"No. Not really." She said, shifting her legs on top of my bed. How do I know this, you ask, since I am staring at my computer, which would cause me to be looking her opposite direction? I know this because of the glass screen on my computer, that is reflecting the image of my half-naked best friend right at me. So, in truth, I am staring at her, by proxy.

Why was she here? I'd asked myself that about fourteen times since she arrived. Did every house except for mine suffer from this brownout? Was everybody else's parental guardians that sensitive about turning on the AC? Could she have at least worn a decent pair of pants?

"You okay, over there?" she asked, lazily.

Suddenly, like a dense cartoon character with four and a half minutes left in the episode to resolve a conflict, I was hit with a flash of insight. That, or the heat was getting to me. Helga's behavior suddenly made sense to me. The seemingly random visit, dressed for the "weather", needing a place to "crash". A week ago, I wouldn't have thought much of this, maybe that Helga was suffering from heatstroke and just needed a cool compress. But today, it somehow made sense, and I was surprised that I didn't notice it until now.

* * *

_"What is _that _supposed to mean?" Helga asked, struggling to keep the anger from her voice. She was never one to get easily offended, and I was surprised that she even let a fraction of it show._

_"Don't get upset, I just mean that…" I started, with no knowledge of how to end it._

_"That…?" she pried, moving her empty milk carton back and forth across the table. Even with her calm demeanor, I was certain that she'd let me have it if I said something stupid, which was nearly inevitable._

_"I mean that…there are times, when you don't act like a girl." Arnold said, defending himself._

_"That doesn't mean I'm not a girl, that just means I don't act like all the other girls you know." Helga had fought this battle before. She was anything but the typical girl; she had been since her youth. But with the emergence of puberty (and all the blessings that came with it), it seemed as though Helga was actually striving to let the fraction of femininity that lurked somewhere in her being to come out. And when it occasionally did, I guess so few people noticed it (myself included), that she eventually gave up._

_"Hey, don't get me wrong," I began, leaning back from across the lunch table. "As few and far between the occasions are, you definitely can act like a girl. Like right now: you're getting offended over something trivial and stupid. Girls do that."_

_Helga responded by crossing her arms and further narrowing her eyes._

_I could feel myself grasping at straws and coming up with nothing. "Okay…you…" I started, looking around. "You have one of those hair-tie-up thingies on your wrist. Girls do that."_

_"A hair scrunchie?" Helga said, pulling the black hair-tie off of her wrist._

_"See! You even know what they're called. Girls know things like that." I knew that my defense was cracking, even before Helga stood up to deposit her food. "You're gonna get me later for this, aren't you?"_

_"Oh, definitely." Helga said, smiling wildly, after she'd thrown out her trash. "And do you know what the best part of it is going to be?" she asked, biting her bottom lip in excitement._

_"You're not even going to see it coming…" she finished, standing behind me and leaning in to whisper it in my ear. I was thrown out of my trance when she stood back up and began walking out of the cafeteria. "See ya later, buddy!" she called behind her, from across the crowded room._

_I was in for it. I just didn't know what it was yet._

* * *

Turning slowly in my computer chair, I stared at Helga through tapered eyes. That sneaky fox, trying to sneak her revenge in like a…a small, sneaky, night animal. Like a fox. A sneaky fox.

"What?" she asked, still upside down on my floor. She finally noticed my gaze and either realize that I was on to her plan (which I was, by the way) or I was freaking her out, and she was considering making a run for it.

"Nothing." I replied, innocently, turning back to the computer. "So, was this your first stop today?" Hopefully, if I kept the conversation low-key, she wouldn't catch on to the fact that I'd already caught on.

"No, I tried all the usual places: the mall, the movies, the pool. Too many people." she sighed.

"Well, they play old movies behind that shopping center down on Main, when the sun goes down. That might be fun." I suggested, expecting her to play along.

"Sounds like a plan." she said, barely moving from the floor. For a moment, I wondered why Helga cared so much. Granted, we'd established ourselves as friends long before now, and as friends (more importantly, as a friend of Helga Pataki), I learned that the playful banter that flew between us was never to be taken seriously. Nevertheless, if she was going to go through with her plan, I had to follow through with mine. It was only fair.

Nodding silently before turning away from her, I stretched my arms, and feigned a yawn. "You were not lying…its way too hot, even with the air conditioning on…", I said, smiling so that she couldn't see. While she was busy nodding in agreement, I crossed my arms in front of me, and clutched the plain white T-shirt that I wore around my back. Sliding the shirt up my torso and back, and finally over my head, I cast the shirt to the side without turning to see Helga's reaction.

Know, I'm not one for bragging, but after two years of Junior Varsity baseball, one year of Varsity Wrestling and another year of Varsity Basketball, I have to say that I'm pretty well put together. Not quite ready for the cover of GQ, but I can hold my own. Without her knowledge, I could see her jaw drop in the glass of my computer screen, before she shook her head and located her drinking glass on the floor. As she emptied the glass, I kept my composure, as if nothing out of the ordinary happened. And believe me, Helga, in my room, with both of us half-naked, is very out of the ordinary.

"You alright back there?" I asked, glancing back, even though I already knew that Helga was still trying to cool herself off and imbibing as much water as she could. She nodded as she finished off the glass, but when she turned slightly to see that I too was turned, giving her a glimpse of my chest and back, she immediately returned the glass to her lips, now trying to inhale the ice cubes at the bottom.

This must be what it feels like to be an evil super genius. To watch your plan unfurl, and actually work…the satisfaction is astounding. I could very well get used this.

In a split second, however, I'd forgotten all plans of getting back at Helga. In her haste to quell the burning in her belly that came from the sight of my rippling abs and pecs (what? I found a romance novel in the attic some years ago, and may have read a tiny, miniscule portion…sue me.), Helga had swallowed an ice cube. An entire ice cube. As if fanning herself, she began waving her hand as the muscles in her neck began looking strained.

Vengeful Arnold set aside, I jumped up from my chair and went to stand behind her. Her arms were flailing about in such a manner that I almost couldn't wrap my arms around her torso. When I finally did, I located her navel (which was not difficult with her level of undress) and began performing the customary three abdominal thrusts to her stomach before pausing. After the second thrust, however, Helga lurched forward and the ice cube popped out of her mouth.

Taking deep breaths and holding her throat, Helga breathed a thanks from in front of me. Taking a few deep breaths myself, I let my arms relax, relieved that she was alright. "That was close." I said, leaning forward, as she had, resting my chin on her back.

It wasn't until that exact moment that I had an out of body experience. And not in the way that most people have them, in the "What on Earth are you doing?!" kind of way. Where I realized what I was doing, whom I was doing it with and how it looked.

"Oh…" was my reply to this realization, and from the way that Helga stiffened in my arms, I figured that she had just realized it too.

"This is…profoundly awkward." Helga said, still not moving.

"I agree."

"We should probably-"

"Make some kind of effort to-"

"Separate?"

"Yup." she said. Before either of us realized it, we'd sprang apart like a tightly wound coil and stood a few feet apart, still completely silent.

"Well, I should probably get going…" Helga said, biting her lip and blushing, in a way that I could only describe as utterly adorable, and looking around my room.

"Yeah, and I should, you know, get ready for…the movies." I stammered.

"Yeah." she said, as if she forgot. "The movies. I'm gonna head home and…take a shower."

"Same here."

"And it's, ya know, hot out and everything, so it'll probably be…cold." she said, blushing further at her own words.

"Yeah, I might need a, ya know, cold shower too. Because it's cold. I mean _hot_. It's hot. So the shower should be...cold." I guess I had no room to talk, because I could feel my face heating up as well.

"Um…okay. So…see you later." Helga said, stepping backwards toward the door. Once she'd gripped the handle, she turned it clumsily, until the door opened. "Bye." she muttered hurriedly, shutting the door behind her.

I waited until her footsteps had subsided and I heard the front door closing before I collapsed on my bed, facing my skylight window. I'd forgotten about the radio, amongst the ruckus, and listened as the weatherman's voice droned on.

"It seems as though the East Coast is in for another harsh week. This Heat Wave is far from over, people…"

Tell me about it.

* * *

__

I know, I know…The Compromise, Back Home Epilogues, and now this. I'm putting a lot on my plate. But this is just something I whipped up. I've always wanted to do a collection of one shots centering on one idea (in this case Awkwardness, specifically the Awkwardness of going from Friends to More Than Friends), so here it is. I'm not sure if I'll actually use the word "awkward" in all of them. I might. I probably will...who knows. I once read a fabulous story over on FP (it's called Relationships, Pie and Other Complicated Stuff...trust me it's great) and the author managed to use the word "pie" in every chapter. It was great fun looking for that. Anyway, here's my new baby. Call it my summer project. There'll be about 4-6 more of these, so stay tuned and have fun.

What will make this different from anything I've ever written? Here, let me tell you:

1) It's a series of one-shots. That means a little mini story all under one story instead of broken up.

2) They're in no chronological order at all. In fact, none of them are connected at all!

3) Aside from a few lines here or there, it'll be pretty much ArnoldxHelga all the way. One chapter in particular will feature two other characters, but they won't be heavily involved.

4) Nearly every single installment has happened to me at least once. I'm not even lying. Even this one. Maybe not under the same circumstances, but pretty close.

I was hoping that this wasn't too much of a stretch...I mean, Helga has done some rather silly things to prove that she's a girl...and even sillier things to impress Arnold. What else...at the beginning of this chapter, I mention pens with "clicky-tops and twisty-bottoms";that came from an episode of Scrubs, which is one of my favoite non-cartoon shows.

Inspired by a heat wave through which I am enduring (Big ups to Maryland!!). Pray for snow.

-PointyObjects


	2. Breakin' Up

****

Awkward

Chapter 2: Breakin' Up

__

"Am I breakin' up?

Am I breakin' up?

Is there trouble on the line?

Did your heart break enough?

Did it break enough this time?

Oh, it feels good to be free.

Oh, it feels good to be free.

Oh, it feels good to be free."

Rilo Kiley

"Breakin' Up"

* * *

"Are you sure that's the best thing for a sinus infection?"

I barely looked up, but I already knew who it was that was entering my house. Other than Phoebe, no one else knew that I secured a spare key to my house on the inside of screen door, at the very bottom. I don't even think my parents know that it's there. I figured, that if a criminal was too stupid to be observant about the house that he was robbing, and _didn't _see it, then tough luck. And if by chance he _did _see it, it probably wouldn't be until he was leaving the door (this is al assuming I have the most polite burglars ever, who actually enter and exit through the front door), then he's probably already stolen all of Olga's old trophies and my dad' plasma screen, so who cares.

"What do you care?" I asked, spooning another scoop of ice cream into my mouth, and smiling.

"Ouch. Someone's testy."

Testy? I've been cooped up in my house all day and he expects me not to be testy. "I can't be held accountable for anything that I say; I'm all hopped up on antibiotics."

Arnold laughed at my alibi. "What about the rest of the time?"

"Oh that? That's just Helga." I replied simply.

"Of course." he said, smiling back. "How could I forget…"

If I had to put a label on my friendship with Arnold, in big, black letters, it'd read: "Unclassified". There's not really a confusion, as to what we are, but of course, it's too hard for people to wrap their heads around the thought of a guy and girl being friends. People reason that something will inevitably happen to drastically change the relationship; making it either better or worse. 90 percent of the time, it's worse.

Friendships like ours are especially complicated when one of the people is in a monogamous relationship with someone outside the circle of aforementioned friendship. Which is a predicament that we found ourselves in more than once. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm no home wrecker. I'm not out to get any of Arnold's "prospects", and I'm pretty sure he's not a part of any campaigns to keep me celibate. But anyone that likes either of us is immediately aware of our friendship, and their part in it. Which is probably why neither of us can keep a significant other for more than five months. Today is a perfect example of that.

"I got all of your assignments for you. And you got your Physics exam back today. You got a 94. Not bad." Arnold said, taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch as me, and handing me the stack of books that were once under his arm.

Sifting through the papers, I looked for my Physics exam. "You looked at my exam?" I asked, not offended, but very slightly annoyed. What if I had received a worse score? I didn't want Arnold to think I was a moron.

Needless to say, I still _liked _Arnold. Stuff like that doesn't just go away in a day. And being his friend made me even more self-conscious about how he saw me. When I was a bully, I could wear a mask; act however I wanted with few consequences, because it wasn't as though he actually knew me. But now, he did. Which made feigning my disinterest in him that much harder.

"Your teacher wrote it with a bright red pen, circled it, and handed it to me. That's an open invitation to look at your score." he said, curling his lip in a way that I told myself didn't effect me. Yeah, tell the growing blush on my face that. Stupid blood rushing to my stupid face. "Besides, it's not like you failed or anything…"

"Yeah, yeah…" I said. The conversation had drifted off, and all I could remember was that I wanted to tell him something. While I tried to remember it…I went back to my ice cream. I usually didn't go for the fruity stuff (I'm more of a double chocolate chunk kind of girl) but something about Orchard Peach Sorbet was just too perfect for words. That, and it definitely helped with my sore throat.

"Oh yeah. I saw your beloved Nathan today." Arnold said, teasingly.

Oh right…_that's_ what I wanted to tell him.

I didn't let Arnold know that anything was on my mind, but continued eating. "Did he say anything to you?" I asked. Put on a face of indifference.

"No." Arnold said. "But he looked at me as if I had just drowned a boxful of baby kittens."

"Kittens." I said.

"That's what I said. Kittens."

"No, you said _baby _kittens. Baby cats _are _kittens. So, by saying 'baby kittens', you pretty much said 'baby baby cats'." I corrected. Arnold hated it when I did that. Which was one of the many reasons why I did it.

"You're annoying." he countered. "Any idea why he might have done that?"

"Simple." I answered, swallowing another mouthful of ice cream. I was almost done by now, and I could see the bottom of the white carton. "He hates you." I smiled.

"And how would you know that?" Arnold asked, skeptically.

"Because he told me."

"When did he tell you that?"

"Today. When he broke up with me."

Yup. There it is. And I cannot stop smiling.

"Come again?" Arnold said, hanging his head and looking at me hard.

"Today, when Nate broke up with me-"

"Nate broke up with you?" Arnold asked, still not believing my words.

"Yup." Man, this ice cream is good. I might ask Arnold to run down to the convenience store and get me another carton. How much was it again? 2.99, plus tax is…

"Nathan? Nathan Evans broke up with _you_?" Why was it so hard to believe? Oh yeah, I know why. Since the day I started going out with Nathan, people were…well, to be honest, they were kind of in shock. I'm far from popular or anything resembling that, but being captain of the girl's Lacrosse team, Editor in Chief of our school newspaper, and President of the French Honor Society (Ironic, no? Where was my knowledge of the French language when I was sitting at a table with Arnold pretending to be his pen pal?), kind of puts me in some elite circles. Not that I pay attention to any of that, but I do have friends all over. People in our school were just like that; it wasn't a big cliché clique war, like most people think. Anyway, as the self-elected Jack of All Cliques, I guess people weren't sure why I decided to date Nate. He wasn't terribly special, I have to say. He was second in command in French Honor Society, and in numerous other clubs. Ecology Club, Chemistry Club, stuff like that. He was pretty much a nerd, like myself, but no one really picked on him. It was weird. Nate was weird.

Maybe that was why I liked him. He was quirky, which is nice sometimes, and he didn't…I don't know, expect anything out of me. We didn't so much date as we were just friends…who happened to hold hands on the way to Advanced Placement European History. He didn't get on my nerves too much…he did have a weird obsession with my butt, and tried to touch it once, which earned him a smack across the face. Other than the he was alright.

So, me being me, and Nathan being Nathan, people thought that when we did break up (it was _that _inevitable) that'd I'd be the one to end it. I tried to ignore it, but as the weeks went by, I saw why people felt that way. I realized that I didn't like Nathan; I was comfortable with him. Like a friend that you meet in a certain class. You guys can talk and joke, but when you leave that class, you kind of don't talk to them at all. That's how it was with Nate. That, and his grammar sucked. It drove me crazy sometimes.

"Yes, Arnold, he did. Must you rub salt into my aching, open wound?" I asked, throwing my head back, Scarlett O'Hara style. Did I mention I was in Drama Club too? Two years of theatre, one of Improvisation.

"Why would he break up with you?" Arnold asked, as though Nathan just ended his engagement with Giselle Bü ndchen.

"Oh, I'm not sure." I said, finishing up the carton. "But most of the reasons he listed came back to you."

"_Me_?" Arnold asked, shocked. "What did _I_ do?"

"It's nothing _you _did, really." I said, motioning to get off the couch. I was still in my pajamas; a striped camisole and wide, blue pajama pants. "He said I ditched him for you on a few occasions, and we hung out too much for his liking, and a bunch of other stuff." In reality, I didn't care too much about Nathan breaking up with me. The truth of it was that I was going to break up with him _tomorrow_, after I got over this cold. Today is Monday, but I didn't think breaking up with someone on a Monday is a good idea. I mean, If you break up with them on a Tuesday, or even a Wednesday, then they might have had a reasonably good week up until then. When you do it on a Monday, you're setting the tone for the rest of their week. Plus, Mondays are usually terrible anyway. Nathan obviously didn't think this through. Which is fine with me; I don't doubt that I'll be his last relationship. Unless they make a sequel to The 40 Year-Old Virgin.

"That's stupid…"Arnold said, to which I agreed. I kind of wanted him to stop talking so h e could go get me some more ice cream. It's been a whole three minutes since my last scoop, and I'm starting to suffer from withdrawal. "Are you alright?"

"Doi. It's just some guy." I replied, surprised that he asked. Since when did I get myself all excited over a boy that wasn't him? Never, that's when.

Arnold chuckled to himself, probably at my response. "He broke up with you because you hung out with me…typical." he said, quietly. The dilatation was actually pretty typical between us. Arnold's last girlfriend, named Kitty (which only made me want to slap her more than usual), broke up with Arnold for the exact same reason.

"_You're always with that weirdo Helga girl…you'd think she was pregnant with your child, considering how much time you spend together…_" she'd say. After they broke up, that was the exact rumor she spread around campus. I'm tempted to think that the student body might have believed her, except for the fact that she herself got pregnant one month after ending things with Arnold, while I remained happily…childless.

"Well, actually…" I began, not sure how to let him know. "He might have broken up with me for something else."

Arnold looked at me quizzically, urging me to continue, without saying anything.

"I might have, accidentally, done something kind of weird."

"What?" Arnold asked. Wow, he sounded concerned.

Taking a deep breath, I rolled my eyes when I realized what I was about to say. "A couple of times, by accident, I…"

"…you?" Arnold asked, his tone now sounding annoyed and concerned.

"I called him 'Arnold'…a few times." I rolled my eyes again, knowing that the laughter was coming. I didn't, however, guess that it'd be as ruthless as it was. He didn't stop laughing for a whole seven minutes, which really got on my nerves. The longer he laughed, the more time I had to wait until he'd go out and get me my ice cream.

"When did you do that?" he said, barely speaking, since he was still laughing like a hyena.

"Just a couple of times…like if he called me. I'd think it was you, or something. And a few times, if he'd surprise me at my locker or after practice or something. I guess it really go to him."

"Ya think?" he said, before erupting into laughter again. Once that bout subsided, he asked me another question. "So, did you ever…you know…"

"Did I ever what?"

"Did you ever say my name, when you two were…ya know…" he prodded, trying to gesture to make his point. I obviously wasn't following.

"I don't get it." I told him.

"Did you ever, call out my name, when you two were doing something…special?" he asked, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

In an instant, I understood him and suddenly felt nauseous. I could feel my face twisting, and shuddered at the thought.

"Gross! No!" I said, moving my arms in front of my face to dessipate any negative images that were sure to flood my moment any second now. "First of all, Arnold, I dated Nate for five weeks, and I'm definitely not that kind of girl. And second, even if I did, I certainly wouldn't tell you if I did, or if your name was involved."

"Why not?" he asked, sounding offended, but still laughing. "If my name is being uttered during throes of passion with which I'm not even involved, I'd like to know about it."

"Because…that's _awkward_." I replied, still shuddering from the thought of myself doing anything physical with Nate. Hand-holding was quite enough, thank you very much. "I could just call you up one night, and say 'Hey Arnold, I was with Nate tonight, and I called out your name. Isn't that funny?'"

"Actually, that'd be pretty funny indeed. I think you should call him up right now, and when he says 'Hello', you should say 'Oh sorry, I thought this was Arnold's number. Goodbye.' That would be _hilarious_." he joked.

"You're an idiot." I said, hurling a pillow at him. "If we're all done with Helga's Most Embarrassing Moments, do you think you could do me a favor?"

"Do I have to?" he whined, collapsing on the couch.

"Come on, I've just had my heart broken and I've bared my soul to you, and you can't do one little thing for me." I pouted. Arnold stood, and rolled his eyes. "I just need a carton of Orchard Peach Sorbet." I said, thrusting the carton at him, so he could take it for reference.

"Fine. I'll be back in ten minutes." he said, smiling and walking toward the door. Once he left the house, I locked the door behind him, knowing he had the key with him to get back in. Nonetheless, before I could make it back to the couch, the doorbell rang. Through the peephole, I saw Arnold, and I surmised that he'd forgotten his wallet.

Opening the door, I instinctively stepped aside, so Arnold could come back in and retrieve whatever he left. Because I was looking away, I barely noticed the hand that quickly moved up to gently hold my face in place. And I definitely didn't take notice of the dwindling distance between our faces until it was too late.

My initial came from the fact that Arnold was kissing me. A similar feeling followed it, when said kiss, although abrupt and sudden, was still soft and comforting. I only started realizing what was happening when he began to move his lips over mine, and something warm and moist met with the corner of my mouth. My eyes fell closed, as we began falling into sync with one another. His lips covered mine for no more than a few seconds, and as soon as I began to respond, he slowly backed up and dropped his hand.

Arnold's kiss was worlds better than anything I'd gotten from Nate. He was so inept and weird, that I'd eitehr walk away from a kiss feeling like I had just been punched in the mouth, or like my lip was going to be eaten off. Too bad Arnold was currently staring at me like I'd grown a tail; I was aboutt o assk for more notes on his technique.

Instead of allowing the disappointment to show on my face (which would have been more embarrassing than any conversation we had so far), I decided to go with the whole "Bumbling Idiot" look. Very chic.

"Wh-What was that for?" I asked, stammering and blinking like a…a stammering , blinking thing. What? I opened my front door only to have my best friend kiss me…few of us are poet Laurent after such events.

Before he spoke, Arnold merely shrugged, and lifted the carton to my eyeshot. "I've never had this flavor. Just wanted to see how it tasted."

My brows came together at his response. What am I; your tiny pink spoon with which you use to sample ice cream flavors?

"That," he began again. "And I think you're cute when you blush. Be back in ten minutes." he finished, and turned to walk away.

'Cute when I blush?' What is a blush, anyway. It's blood rushing to your face (Hence the name, I guess). Blush…just a stupid bodily function…that I plan to do more often.

I'll start as soon as Arnold gets back with my ice cream.

* * *

__

Yes, yes, I know, the last line is terrible. Sue me. Actually don't; I am beyond the Valley of Sheer Brokeness. Anyway, the story: This was inspired by a guy that I liked, who didn't like my best friend. In truth, my best friend didn't like him either. I'm not sure why I even liked him. It was weird year. And Nate got his name from…well, to be honest, I went into work yesterday to pick up my paycheck and the first coworker that I saw was named Nate. That's how things work in the world of Antoinette. The next installment of this is probably my favorite, so watch out.

I would like to say that I ate Orchard Peach sorbet ice cream while writing this, but I didn't. I finished the carton off yesterday when I was editing the first installment of "Awkward". So, if anyone wants to run out and get me some, that'd be delightful. Please and thank you.

Hope you enjoyed!

-PointyObjects


	3. Underneath it All

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Awkward

Chapter 3: Underneath it All

* * *

"I am beyond tired…"

"How can you be tired? You've barely done anything."

"Yes, I did." Helga whined. "I moved that box, from over there, all the way over here." she finished her statement with an exaggerated yawn, stretching her arms over her head.

"You are so lazy." Arnold said, leaning forward on the crowded couch to hurl a throw pillow at her.

Helga caught the object, and tucked it under her arms and close to her chest. "If I were paying you, you'd be fired by now."

"Why aren't you paying me?' Arnold asked.

"Because you're my friend, and friends don't pay other friends to help them move." Helga said, lifting herself from the couch. Wiping her brow, she bent to pick up another cardboard box, differing only from the other boxes scattering her living area by size and label. "Come on, let's get back to work."

"No, I think I'll sit her and watch you work." Arnold said. To be honest, as close as he was to Helga, he was anything but excited to help her move. To him, there was something weird about handling other people's things. Not just other people's things, but, all of another person's worldly possessions. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it was just…strange.

"Come on, you turkey!" Helga said, reaching into her box and hurling a long-sleeved shirt at him.

Arnold peeled the shirt off of his face. "Did you just call me a _turkey_?"

"Yeah. What about it?" Helga said, throwing another shirt at him. This one was bright purple, her favorite color, and was beaded.

In retaliation, Arnold threw the shirt back at her, but Helga ducked, snatching more shirts from the box labeled "tops" in black marker.

"You don't want to do that…" Arnold warned, smiling and grasping for ammunition from another labeled box. This one read "pants/skirts".

"No way, Arnold. You can't use pants, they have zippers and big buttons!" Helga protested.

"That last shirt was covered in beads!"

"Fine, bring it on." Helga said, readying her hands.

"Consider it done."

A split second later, the two were hurling various articles of clothing at one another. Pants, shirts, and socks flew across the room, with no aim or care. Their once practiced pitches were soon replaced with careless tosses, mimicking children splashing each other half-heartedly. It wasn't until Arnold reached into an unmarked box, with the intention of hurling a handful of its contents at Helga.

"Arnold, no!"

"What? What's wrong?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing. There's nothing in that box, that's all." Helga said, defensively.

"Really?" Arnold asked, devilishly.

"Yeah."

"Are you sure there aren't any secrets in this box…" he asked, slowly reaching for it again.

"No! I mean, no. There aren't any secrets in there, I just…those are, my grandmother's antique…handkerchiefs. Very delicate." she lied.

"I don't think so…I think they're-"

"Arnold, I'm serious, they're-"

Arnold's eyes widened when he did tear the box open. There, in a medium sized box sat Helga's entire collection of…underwear. Everything from the few and far between pairs of "granny panties" that were kept for no real reason, to the uncomfortable ruffled-covered numbers that were a gift from an eccentric aunt. Looking back at her, she held a hand up to cover her face. Since Helga was never one to blush, he figured she was just plain embarrassed. But then again, who wouldn't be? Instead of acting as though nothing happened, Arnold continued their game.

"Well, what do we have here?" he asked, pulling out a pair.

"Arnold, stop it." Helga said, fighting back laughter.

"Pink zebra stripes? Oh, that's adorable…"

"I mean it-"

"Hey look, these ones have little sequins on them. " he said, waving around a bright blue pair, making them sparkle in the light that filtered in from her tiny window that was open. "They're like little Broadway undies."

"Arnold if you don't cut it out right-"

"And speaking of cut outs, look at what I found…" he began, lifting out Helga's least favorite and most humiliating pair. They could hardly be called a "pair" of anything, really.

"Arnold-"

"And it doesn't end there, everybody," he announced to no one in particular. "There's a little message on her for us."

"That's not fun-"

"And it's written in rhinestones!" he laughed, holding them over her head, and effectively out of her reach. "It says…Maid of Honor?"

Helga rolled her eyes, and gave up trying to get the thong underwear from him. Either way, he looked at her quizzically, silently waiting for an explanation. "When Olga got married, she was really upset, because her dress was made out of silk-chiffon, and you could see her underwear when she was walking down the aisle. She hates thongs, but there was no other way around it, so she had to wear one.

"Anyway, she freaked and turned into Bridezilla the night before the wedding, and said that if _she _had to walk down the aisle with dental floss up her bum, then _all _the bridesmaids had to be awkward and uncomfortable. So she bought us all personalized, _rhinestoned _thongs." Helga explained.

"Wow. What a lovely story." Arnold said, arms crossed, still clutching the underwear.

"Okay, I told you my story, now hand them over.

"no, I don't think I will."

In an instant, Helga leapt across the room at Arnold, grabbing him around his long torso and wrestling him to the ground. The fight ensued for a few minutes, one gaining the lead over the other, only to lose it again. When Helga held fast to one end of the thong, Arnold suddenly yanked it back, and while he snatched it from Helga, it also flew out of his grasp.

And directly out of the open window.

When the two realized what happened, the fumbled to the window, only to look out onto the streets and see the tiny underwear, twinkling up at them from the middle of the sidewalk.

"You threw my thongs out of the window." Helga said, in shock.

"If I go down there and get it, can I keep them?" Arnold asked.

Helga pushed herself from the windowsill and began attacking Arnold with her fists.

"Get out, get out!" she screamed, pushing him toward the door.

Once ther, Arnold turned back to her, smiling. "So, when should I come back over?"

Helga blanched. "Never! Why on earth would I have you back over her after you threw my underwear out of a window?"

"Because, we still haven't gone through that box full of bras in your room. See you tomorrow."

Before he could so much as laugh at his own joke, Helga slammed the door loudly, turning away from it and leaning her back against it's frame.

"Freak."

* * *

_That was one of my funnier ones. I like it a lot._

_Inspired by my hatred for thongs. As my favorite author Louise Rennison says "They just go up your bum, as far as I know." Also, I work in retail, and I always get assigned the underwear table. Have you ever tried to fold a thong? Ever tried folding 80 of them? When the string is all sideways and the tag sticks out and they get all wrinkly and wonky around the top part? Yeah. That's why I hate thongs._

_Oh, and for **Arnolds Love **and **the amazing finn**; this isn't it either. I told you, you'll know it when you read it. Bye!_

_-PointyObjects_


	4. Junk Food

**Awkward**

**Chapter 4: Junk Food**

__

"'Cause you and I are guilty pleasure,

No one else has ever known.

Feels like it is now or never:

Don't want to be alone.

How does it feel in my arms?

How does it feel in my arms?

Do you want it?

Do you need it?

Can you feel it?

Tell me.

How does it feel in my arms?"

Kylie Minogue

"In My Arms"

* * *

I knew where I was before I woke up. I knew where I was before I woke up because I know what I did last night to cause this to happen. Granted, I didn't think this would happen, but I expected some pretty crazy results. Wouldn't be the first time, right? Also, I knew that I wouldn't have bee woken up by my own body. That's what my alarm clock was for. So when my alarm clock failed to wake me up, I surmised that it was because my alarm clock was a good seven blocks away. In my room. Where I'm not.

"Not again…" I said out loud, just above a whisper.

I'd be lying if I said that I didn't consider staying like this. From what I've seen so far, I probably could stay here for the remainder of the morning, and pretend that I was as shocked as he was when the time came to approach the situation. But, I decided against it.

Let me tell you this much: Escape? Not easy. Trust me. I tried everything: wiggling my way out, forcing my way out, nudging myself out, nothing worked. It's like a steel trap in these arms. When I tried to simply pry them off of me, the result was both fortunate and unfortunate. The arms that both encased and caressed my midsection, held on that much tighter and elicited a moan from the person behind me.

If you are asking me, 'Helga, could you stay like this…oh, forever?' then your answer would be a firm, 'Yes.' Yes, I could. Granted, I didn't necessarily want to wake up spooning my best friend (And before you begin thinking anything…strange, we were both fully clothed. Trust me. I checked.). But when things are meant to happen, hen they're meant to happen. Especially when one ingests something that makes the chance of that certain thing more likely to happen.

Realizing that Arnold could literally sleep through a tornado, I turned completely to face him, which, in and of itself is not an easy task. Arnold was the equivalent of a warm, slightly less restrictive straight-jacket, as of now. Not that I was terribly uncomfortable with my current position. Honestly, what girl would be? Girls long for male-generated cuddling the same way guys long for female induced…well, you get the point. I'm a reluctantly happy camper, and Arnold is completely out of it.

After pushing against his chest (and momentarily fawning over the utter perfection of it…) I was granted a little leverage, and made my escape. I practically crawled over him to get off of the bed, but if my incessant moving hadn't done anything to wake him, then that probably wouldn't. I stumbled backwards off the bed and onto the floor, making sure nothing of mine was left around. I figured that I must have come straight from my own bed, because there was nothing o mine, clothes or the like, anywhere in his room (except the ones on my body. Didn't I already tell you we were fully clothed? Perverts…). Nevertheless, I was aware that a camisole and short shorts were highly inappropriate for walking around in outdoors, and I searched the familiar closet for something decent to cover myself in. I emerged not too long after in a pair of ridiculously long basketball shorts, a sweatshirt that was labeled "Small" but would accommodate a homeless family and a pair of old, white sneakers that I stuffed with a pair or two of socks.

If you would have told me, last night, that I would wake up in Arnold's bed and vacate his house in his clothes, I'd have…well, I probably would have believed you. I mean, stranger things have happened.

Walking down the street, I didn't receive many strange looks, or looks for that matter. People thought little of it, and the seven blocks passed with ease and little disturbance. Halfway to my own home, I dialed Phoebe's number from a payphone and told her to meet me at my house with "The List". I hadn't consulted "The List" in a while, but I was sure that it'd prove useful in the imminent future.

* * *

As Phoebe left my room, I found myself eerily tired. Maybe the trek to Arnold's room took so much out of me that I was feeling the effects now, some two hours after I left his house. Phoebe turned sharply and pointed a stern finger at me.

"No more, do you understand?"

I simply nodded, igniting her ire again. Shaking her head, she left the room and went downstairs. I thought I heard her say something along the lines of "…weird food reactions…", but I paid it little mind, and decided to address it later, if I decided to address it at all. Falling backwards on my bed, I curled up on one side, ready to embrace sleep. I felt the position similar to that of this morning, and chuckled to myself.

Reaching over to my nightstand, I pulled open a small drawer and found the pink, spiral notebook that I visited every so often. Reading down the abbreviated version of Phoebe's list, I smiled at the more comical repercussions of my ignoring Phoebe's advice. None of them, I realized, were quite as awkward or random as the one that occurred last night.

_Pork Rinds_

_White Cheddar Popcorn_

_Onion Rings_

_Chocolate Sandwich Cookies_

_Taco-Flavored Tortilla Chips_

The orange smudge of powdered cheese was long gone from my fingertips, but the mystery of what caused my sleepwalking was still evident. Smiling ruefully over the last addition to my, ever-growing list, I put a single line through the last item.

_Cheese Curls_

Before I drifted off into sleep, I remembered the bag of extra large Cheese Curls that were still hidden under my bed. Phoebe made a sweep to collect all junk food from my dwelling, but I was sure that she didn't find it. If she did, that was fine. It'd probably keep me from doing something stupid…again.

But it was more likely that she didn't. And if this was so, then I guess I'd be seeing Arnold again tonight.

* * *

_I kind of like this. It's very weird. Big reference to the "Helga Sleepwalks" episode, one of my favorites. I don't know if any of those foods induce sleepwalking to one's friend's home and entering their bed, so don't quote me. I imagined the actual event (waking up in Arnold's room) in a few different ways, but this one had a consistency that the other versions didn't._

_And this chapter is dedicated to **Nightglider-star**, who reviewed pretty much every single piece of fan fiction I have on this site. Since you liked this series so much, here's a chapter just for you. Deliciously awkward and silly. The next one will be a little bit different, but still very funny. I think you'll like it._

_The italicized junk foods listed above were suposed to have the strikethrough thingy through them...like they've been crossed out, but it didn't same when I uploaded it. Many apologies.  
_

_This is the third time, at least, that I've mentioned "Taco Flavored Tortilla Chips" in my fan fiction. I am tres weird. Goodnight, all!_

_-PointyObjects_


	5. Junk Food II

****

Awkward

Chapter Five: Junk Food Part II

__

"I get lost, messed up and bored,

When I'm alone too long.

I can't sleep, function or eat,

When I'm not with someone."

Motion City Soundtrack

"It Had to Be You"

* * *

Arnold fingered another round, red raspberry and tossed it in the brown, paper bag in his hand. He was unsure how to go about picking out organic, red raspberries, and decided to get a variety. The organic food store didn't bag anything for its customers; even smaller items like peas and berries were laid out and shoppers were provided paper bags with which to make their selections.

Once again, Arnold was sent on another eccentric and random food run for his grandmother, this time for organic raspberries for a new "recipe" of hers. His grandfather begged him to stay home, assured that if no one said anything about the recipe itself, Pookie would forget and disregard the whole idea. And as much as Arnold wanted to spare his grandfather another trip to his downstairs "office", he left for the market, thankful for the distraction. Arnold woke up that morning feeling unusual, but couldn't put his finger on why exactly.

His mood wasn't from waking up alone, as he did so every morning. There was no shock in that. The shock came from his own expectations upon waking up. It was as if someone was in his bed with him, but was suddenly gone. He told himself all morning that it was probably just some dream; one that felt more real that it actually was. And he probably would have believed himself if he didn't keep finding evidence that someone _did _visit him that night. First of all, there was a strange, human-shaped dent in his mattress. He surmised that he had merely rolled over in his sleep, but that idea vanished as quickly as it appeared. The indentation was smaller than his muscular frame, and he didn't remember moving much in his sleep. Then, when he went to change to leave for the store, he couldn't find his favorite pair of faded, white tennis shoes. There was the possibility that he left them at school, or over Gerald's house, but he wasn't convinced. In addition, the closet held a few empty hangers, and some clothes were scattered on the floor. Nothing was missing that he could see, but the mystery remained. And as he woke up, he caught a whiff of something unusual lingering on his sheets. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it was familiar and strange at the same time. It kept his mind racing for the remainder of the day.

Once his bag was full, Arnold wandered around the store, burning time. He figured that his grandma could wait until he got home; if anything his grandfather was right, and shed forgotten about the recipe altogether. Turning the corner into the snack food aisle, Arnold's eyes wandered to the other side of the aisle, instead of where he was going. Barely missing a stagnate customer, Arnold turned to avoid her and knocked the shopping basket from her hands. She dropped to the floor immediately to retrieve the fallen items, and Arnold followed suit. It wasn't until the miscellaneous items were back in the basket that he peered at the face of his victim.

"Helga?" he spoke, pausing in his brief cleanup to gain her attention.

"Hey," Helga said, still looking at the floor, which was, at the point, devoid of her items. She kept her eyes from his, almost as if she already knew it was him. Arnold silently wondered if she had recently got a bad haircut or had a pimple on her nose and didn't want him to see. "What's up?" she asked, casually. Arnold inspected her face. No bad hair, no acne.

"Not much." he said, standing and facing her. "What are you doing here?" Arnold didn't peg Helga as a health-food type of person. In fact, she often ate more junk food than himself.

"Oh, you know…grocery shopping." she said, stealing a quick glance at her basket, which was still in his hands.

Arnold followed her gaze down and examined the contents of her case. Lifting each box or bag out, he read the labels aloud. "Let's see…Carrot-Flavored Veggie Chips, Soy Cheddar Cheese Crackers, Fiber-Based Oat and Bran Cookies…when'd you become such a health food nut?"

"Oh…" Helga began, shifting her eyes and biting her lip. "I just thought I'd try something healthy. It was Phoebe's idea; she thinks I eat too much junk food." she admitted, smiling to ease her own nerves.

"That's cool I guess." Arnold said, escorting her to the check out lane. Seeing as there were no pre-bagged foods, Arnold was under the impression that customers would have to check themselves out of the store, eliminated the need for humans within the store at all. Much to his surprise, there was a miserable looking girl behind the counter, silently dragging items across the glass-bottomed table top and into recyclable plastic bags. While in line, Arnold and Helga made small talk; absent-mindedly asking each other what was in 'organic wheat-germ chewing gum' and why an organic food store couldn't afford someone to bag the grapes instead of allowing them to roll all over the floor and get squished.

Helgs items were soon being scanned, and when the cashier finished, she lazily sighed, " That'll be 7.92." Helga reached into her pocket to retrieve the cash, but Arnold spoke up, before she could hand it over.

"I'll get it." he said, handing the cashier his bag in addition to Helga's and a few bills.

"You don't have to."

"It's fine." he said, as they left the store, Helga a few paces in front of him.

Once outside the store, Helga faced him, smiling. "Well, thanks for the healthy snacks." she said, looking around nervously.

Arnold however was distracted, leaving a confused look on his face. "Do you smell that?" he asked, looking around.

Helga panicked and checked her shoes, hoping that she hadn't stepped in anything. Granted, she was leaving a food store, so it was unlikely that if anything foul smelling was on her person, that it wasn't just food. "Uh, what do you-"

Helga was cut off when Arnold moved forward, standing so close to Helga that she could feel his breath on her neck, just below her ear. He didn't touch her, but managed to pull away before she melted right there on the sidewalk. Helga stood shocked, and elated, standing completely still as customers filtered out of the store past them. Arnold still wore his perplexed expression before explaining to Helga his actions.

"You smell like Cheese Curls."

Helga tried to control her eyebrows, but they shot up as soon as Arnold finished his statement. "Ch-cheese Curls?" she asked, attempting to keep the squeak from her voice, but failing miserably.

"Yeah, I've been smelling them all morning. Even my sheets smelled like them." he said, scratching his head. "It's really weird."

Helga struggled with words for a few moments, glad that Arnold was looking at the sidewalk, instead of at her.

"Cheese Curls?" she said, finally finding her voice and the courage to use it without looking like a fish in the desert. "Oh, Arnold. You're so funny with your jokes and your…snack food inspired yarns." she said, nervously punching his shoulder, so as it go along with his joke, even though she was certain that he was completely serious. "Well, it's been nice chatting with you, but I have a ton of things to do. Thanks for the food…again. See you around!" she said, turning quickly and pacing quickly down the sidewalk, toward the corner. Her pace soon turned into a sprint as she turned the bend, and all Arnold heard was her footsteps on the cement as she left. Arnold failed to notice the desperate tone in his friend's voice, the way that she looked at her hands quickly to check for any orange cheese residue, and the beads of sweat that were gathering on her brow as she spoke.

He also, conveniently, didn't notice the faded, white men's sneakers that Helga wore as she ran down the street.

* * *

__

Like it? I realized this morning, on my way to work, that I wrote my last installment when I was drunk. Now, don't get all parental on me, I'm aware that I won't be 21 for another 4 months and 1 day, and FYI, that's not what I meant. When I say "drunk" I mean, "sleepy to the point of not knowing what I'm doing or saying". it happens often. I call it being "drunk-sleepy" (as opposed to being "sleepy-drunk" which is just someone who gets very tired while inebriated and who will go to sleep anywhere.)…I've been known to curse, accuse people of stealing and walk to my bathroom and "unlock" it, while in this state. The bathroom thing is because, as you know, I work in retail, and I do the fitting rooms a lot, all of which are locked, so I have to unlock them. I think that might fall under the category of sleepwalking. No more cheese curls for me…anyway, what was I saying? Oh right, I was totally drunk-sleepy last night when I wrote/posted this, and when I woke up, I had no idea what I wrote. Literally. So, I put this idea together in my head, and thought I'd put it up to redeem myself. But looking at chapter four now, it's not terrible, aside from a few spelling mistakes and typos.

I feel bad, because I should update the Compromise…and I will! It' going to be good. For real. Are you listening? Good. Maybe even great. Funny, cute, all that good stuff. Stick around! Bye!

-PointyObjects


	6. Just Dance

**Awkward**

**Chapter 6: Just Dance**

"_What's going on on the floor?_

_I love this record, baby,_

_But I can't see straight anymore._

_Keep it cool…_

_What's the name of this club?_

_I can't remember, _

_But it's alright, alright?_

_Just Dance…"_

_-Lady Gaga feat. Colby O'Donis and Akon_

"_Just Dance"_

* * *

"Hey, what are you doing?"

The question caught me off guard. What were half of the guys in the room doing? I set down my cup of punch (which may or may not have been spiked with something) and attempted to reply. Never mind the fact that I was practically choking already from A) The heat of the room, B) The number of people in the room and C) the person in front of me, I managed to speak.

"Getting a drink. It's an oven in here…" I said, hoping that this would lead to a conversation regarding the number of people in the room (too many) or the lack of air conditioning in the small room. Eugene was always an eccentric, especially when it came to dance, but after his most recent trip to The Dominican Republic, he couldn't get over the lure of Latin dance. He attempted to teach all of his friends individually, but decided to get them all together at once and form a "dance party" of sorts. I was hoping for a smaller group of people, but apparently he invited every person he'd ever met. Conveniently, however, Eugene's air conditioning unit broke down a day before the party, and most of the people were cooling themselves by either standing in front of the oscillating fans, or drowning themselves in punch. I was part of the latter.

Until, I was abruptly approached.

There was little surprise to that. Eugene, being the utter genius that he is, invited about twice as many guys to his house, than girls. This left about twelve or so girls standing by the wall or in the kitchen area waiting for a guy to break free. The thought of "taking turns" was non-existent; it was every…girl for herself. If you let your partner go, you were stuck alone until you swept up another one. This left all the guys in a weird predicament. Even if the girl was an amazing dancer (like my old partner, Carmen, was), the truth was, no one wanted to salsa and merengue and…that other dance that starts with a "B", with the same person. After about two dances, I noticed guys skimming the walls with their eyes, looking for someone else to dance with. Somehow, I had gotten free, and it didn't take long for me to get asked back on the dance floor, this time with a new partner on my arm.

"Nuh-uh." Helga said, shaking her head, placing a hand on her hip. She gave me that look; the one that said she was up to something. I decided long ago that I'd stop trying to figure out what was going on in her head, and merely looked forward to the brief moments that she'd let me in on her big joke.

"Pardon?" I asked, trying to sound as cool as she was. No such luck.

"You. Me. Merengue. Now." she said, linking her arm with mine, and dragging me through the packed living room to the center of the carpeted area. As we walked, I heard other girls who stood against the wall, exchanging insults about Helga, for "snatching up the only free guy." If nothing else, I had to give Helga some credit: she was bold.

Once in place, near an open window, she turned toward me, looking nervous.

"You okay?" I asked. What happened to the Helga who just dragged me onto a packed dance floor.

"Yeah." she said, stepping forward, and putting her hand on my shoulder, and holding my other one. I placed my hand on her side and heard her release a breath.

"Do you know how to meringue?" I asked, a little surprised that her nerve seemed to suddenly disappear.

"I was watching…while everyone else was…" she said, looking at her feet.

"Well," I began, starting slow, and using my hands to guide her where she needed to be. She kept her eyes trained on my hands and her feet. "It's pretty easy. It's all in the hips." I explained.

"Great, I've got plenty of those."

I'd be a liar if I said I hadn't noticed. Helga was unusual, in comparison to most girls, anyway. She wasn't very tall, but despite being petite, she wasn't narrow at all. Most people looked her over as plain; she wasn't terribly endowed, but even if she was, I doubt anyone would have known it. I rarely saw her in anything other than a T-shirt and long jeans. She was pretty short, but I knew that she liked her jeans long. Even the black pants she was wearing today were a little long for her,

The shirt she wore was unusual for her. It was some shiny material…silk or something girly like that, and it was bright purple. There wasn't anything wrong with it, it was just strange, seeing Helga dressed up.

After a few moments, we fell into sync, Helga moving her hips in time with the music. I didn't mind that she wasn't the best dancer on the floor; she was more bearable than some of the other girls. She didn't talk too much, or step on my feet, or try to rub up against me. She just stood in front of me, biting her bottom lip and stared at her feet.

"Don't look at your feet." I said, and her head immediately came up. "And don't think about it so much. Just have fun."

Expelling another breath, she nodded her head, and looked over my shoulder and around the room, at anything but her feet and the floor.

"Ready to turn?" I asked, laughing at her reaction. She nodded, looking completely unsure in the process. " I let go of her left hand, and explained. "Keep moving your hips and pivot around your right leg." I said. She did so, somewhat slower than expected, but as soon as she returned to our standard dancing position, she looked completely pleased with herself.

"That was easy!" she said, smiling. I nodded, and turned her again, only in the opposite direction.

"So, what were you doing on the wall a second ago?" I asked. Once Helga got over her initial shyness (that I still didn't understand. Helga was never shy), I found that I got bolder as well.

"What do you think? No one would dance with me." she said, not sounding dejected or offended at all. "I know how you guys are…"

"What does that mean?"

"It means," she began. "guys either want to dance with the girls who are fabulous dancers, completely gorgeous, or both. Seeing as I'm neither, I figured that I'd have to get off my toosh and _demand _a dance. That's where you came in." she finished.

There was some truth to her statement. I noticed it as son as I entered the party. The girls in the flashy outfits and makeup were snatched up first, then the more modest girls who happened to be great dance partners, leaving the less kinetically inclined, unpretentious girls to wait for a lonely guy to walk past them.

Shaking my head slightly, I spoke. "You're selling yourself short, again." I said, not elaborating. Mostly because I had nothing else to say regarding the matter. I'd just told my friend that she was not ungorgeous…how am I supposed to follow that? "You don't think half of the guys out here want a new partner? Turn."

Helga turned quicker this time, and stood in front of me looking confused. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"It's fun to change it up every now and then. That's why I didn't mind when you asked me to dance. I think if all the girls standing over there," I said, motioning to the wall behind Helga. "Would get up and just ask a guy to dance, they'd be pleasantly surprised."

Helga blinked and thought about what I said. At least that's what it looked like she was doing. "Wanna learn another turn?" I asked, to quench the silence.

"Sure." she said.

"Okay, it's just like the last one." I said, lifting my arm to begin the turn. "Only this time, I'm going to lower this hand," I said, bringing the arm down to the middle of her back once she was faced away from me. "When I do that, you just turn back toward me without making a full 360. Got it?"

Helga nodded, excitedly. I let her know that I was about to turn her again, and she stepped into the turn again. Unfortunately, she went too quickly, and nearly fell forward into me.

"Sorry." she said, laughing and regaining her footing. I was laughing as well, and we stood back in position. Resuming the dance, I told her to slow down in the turn, and to step back on her left foot instead of trying to switch back and forth. "Okay, I'm ready." she said.

The turn began routinely. Helga was still thinking too much, but I felt like she was learning.

And then, _it _happened.

For some reason, Helga came out of her turn too quickly. Maybe she was excited about her mastering a simple step so quickly. Maybe she thought the song was over and was trying to finish the move quickly. Maybe she ate one too many of those empanadas, and lost concentration due to gas. I don't know exactly what she was thinking, but I'll bet you can't guess what I was thinking (mostly because, I'm not sure what I was thinking myself…).

In Helga's haste to turn, for whatever reason, my hand promptly went from the middle of her back to the center of her chest. That's right, you guessed it. I was, in effect, groping my best friend. In the middle of a crowded dance floor. After realizing what exactly had transpired, Helga and I jumped back from each other, and looked around awkwardly. Still wanna guess what's going through my head? Good, because neither did I. So instead of thinking, I spoke.

"I'm…I-"

"It's fine." Helga said, simply. Stepping back toward me, and holding out her hands, waiting for mine. Hesitantly, I stepped forward as well, holding her hands, and resuming the classic hip motions that we followed beforehand. Once again, her gaze turned toward the floor.

"Helga, I'm-"

"It's _fine_." she said, meeting my gaze, with a look that clearly read 'Drop It'. I guess I never was too good at picking up signals, because I kept going.

"No, it's not fine."

"Yes, it is." she replied through gritted teeth. "No harm, no foul, right?"

"But, I-"

"Look," she began, interrupting me again, all the while looking around to make sure that no one could hear us. Of course they couldn't. The floor was too packed and the music was too loud. "If you talk about it, then it became awkward, okay? So, just don't talk about it."

I avoided mentioning it for the remainder of the dance (which lasted a bit longer than I expected. Did Eugene hit repeat one to many times, or something?), and Helga conveniently didn't make any sudden movements or turns. Which made the dance somewhat stale after that. I didn't want to say it, but this whole "it never happened" thing was taking the fun out of dancing. Had we both just gave in to it, admitted that it happened and laughed about it, everything would be resolved. Women.

Seeing as the song was pretty much like a game of Monopoly with no end in sight (Isn't that the truth? Especially when you're not eh guy with Park Place, or Boardwalk or North Carolina…whoever does own that strip just keeps you in the game so they can make you mortgage everything and go completely broke…), I decided to suck it up, and properly apologize.

No harm in that, right? Wrong.

Because apologies are meant to be heard only by the person you've offended. I, unfortunately, happened to mutter my apology in the middle of the dance floor. I did so loud enough so that I'd be heard over the music. So, instead of Helga hearing me apologize over music, she (and everyone else) heard, "I'm sorry for touching your boob!" over the sound of shuffling feet and ice cubes in plastic cups. Which, naturally earned me a roomful of very confused stares. Whose bright idea was it to turn the music off right then?!

And, of course, being the genius that I am, I went on, trying to defend myself, from everyone.

"…lay. Sorry for touching your boob-lay. AS in Bublé. As in Michael Bublé. As in your Michael Bublé CD. That I touched. Sorry." I said, feeling nervous and probably leaving a hand-shaped sweat stain on Helga's shiny purple shirt. Nice going so far.

Needless to say, my exit from the room was anything but graceful. I'm sure most people forgot about it, as a quick-paced salsa number replaced the silence, and I could hear people dancing from the next room. Walking back into the living room, I watched Helga escape the grasp of a very sweaty guy in a drenched green polo, who didn't look like he knew what he was doing. Before she could fully leave him, the twirled her in a strange way, that probably left her frightened, and nearly dropped the poor girl at his poor excuse for a dip. Either way, as soon as she walked away, some poor fool approached him, seeing the open opportunity to dance, even if it was with someone who didn't do the art justice.

Staggering to the punch bowl, Helga poured herself a large cup of punch and nearly swallowed the cup in her haste to finish off the beverage. Weaving through the small crowd in the kitchen area, I walked up behind Helga and tapped her shoulder.

"What are you doing?" I asked, leaning in.

She smiled at my boldness, and played along. "Getting a drink. It's an oven in here…"

I shook my head, as though reprimanding her. "Nope." I said, smiling too. "You. Me. Salsa. Now."

* * *

_That was fun. Completely inspired by the salsa party I went to about…2 weeks ago. Actually, the accidental groping was inspired by the salsa party, but the conversation that followed was prompted by a separate occurance that happened few years ago. I was at Target, when I saw a friend of mine who worked there, and we were walking around and talking, and somehow wandered into the sports equipment section. Anyway, he started talking about how he wanted to buy some weights to bulk up, or whatever, and in lifting a weight from one of the shelves, he…"brushed the horse" as it were. If you don't know what that means go to urban(don't put a space here, I'm just adding it so the site won't delete it or whatever)dictionary dot com. Anyway, he tried to apologize, and I was just like, "No, it's fine, shut up, no big deal." and he kept apologizing. I actually told him that if he kept trying to talk about it, then it'd get awkward (this experience kind of made me want to write the whole Awkward series…go figure), until he burst out loud with this apology, and…it really was awkward. Every time I go to the gym and see those bright red weights, I think of that. _

_AIL: Art Imitates Life:_

_-I did use that line to get a guy to dance with me. It worked. Go me._

_-My friend kind of did accidentally brush the horse, but he didn't say anything. And, at firt, I thought he should have, but I'm glad that he didn't._

_-The empanadas in this chapter? Shout out to my sister's kick-butt cooking skills. Those empanadas were tasty!! I had, like…50 of them…_

_-Is it weird that they guy who hosted the party that inspired this oneshot is the inspiration for the next one too? His presence is bruising my sanity, but helping my writing. Later days!_

_-PointyObjects_


	7. Late

**Awkward **

**Chapter 7: Late**

* * *

"We could be late, you know?"

"Yeah, I know."

"And you know what'll happen if we're late…"

"Yes, Arnold, I'm fully aware of what will happen if we're late." Helga said, settling into the front seat of Arnold's car and running her hand through her hair. The two were off to a late start, but always seemed to make it to work on time. Their internships at Vasilos, Arthur and Klos were almost up, and only five interns would actually go on to continue working with the paralegal group afterwards. Being tardy or any such grievances were strikes against them, and would hurt their chances of landing a spot on the team.

"Just saying…" Arnold said, starting the car again. He and Helga both graduated from Villa Julie College the same year, and applied for the same internship. They were among thirty or so interns that were all vying for a full-time job with the company. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Yeah, why?" Helga asked, taking a small break from adjusting her suit to answer Arnold. She was generally uncomfortable in the large jacket and short skirt. The heels she was wearing had thick soles and were higher than she was used to.

"You just seem a little…cranky today. Well, not just today. "

Helga scoffed. "When's the last time I was 'cranky'?" she asked, lifting her purse into her lap and moving her hand around inside to look for something.

"A week and a half ago." Arnold answered.

Helga knew the occasion he was talking about, and why he would say that she was "cranky". That day, two other girls from their internship needed a ride to and from the office, and Arnold was kind enough to mention that he gave Helga a ride everyday, and that helping out a few more people was no problem for him. Unfortunately for her, he decided to offer a ride to the two most annoying girls in their program. Granted, they were pretty, but they also giggled incessantly for the entirety of the ride, rested their feet on the armrest that separated the driver's seat and the passenger seat, and discussed such things as the "pinkness of their lipgloss". Helga was visibly upset that day, and spoke little, to Arnold or the imbeciles he decided to surround her with.

Sighing, she replied. "That was a …special occurrence." Helga said, struggling for words. She was trying to apply a thin layer of eyeliner underneath her eye while watching the road for Arnold, who was facing her, thoroughly distracted.

"A special occurrence?" he repeated, and Helga could hear the smile on his face.

"Yeah…" she said, lazily moving to the other eye.

"This wouldn't happen to be a…_monthly _occurrence, would it?" he asked.

Helga dropped her eyeliner pencil, and turned to face Arnold, her mouth agape.

"What?" he asked, innocently, taken in by her silence.

"What did you just ask me?"

"I just wanted to know, if that was why you were so cranky that day." Arnold said, defending himself. He knew however, that Helga wouldn't give in to his defense so easily.

"Did you just ask me about my _period_?" Helga said slowly, hoping that she was mistaken. With Arnold's nervous nod, she realized that she was not. "Oh my gosh, you did."

"What's the big deal?"

"The 'big deal', is that that is a personal question to ask me. Why would you think that's okay to ask me?!" Helga said, gesturing to show her disbelief in his bold statement.

"Look, I've been raised around women-"

"Who? Suzie and your grandma?" Helga asked. "Did they teach you all about The Facts of Life, _Tuttie_? Did they teach you all about Midol and tampons and the magical healing abilities of a Snickers bar?! Does that make your question okay?" she sneered.

"Snickers bars have magical healing abilities?"Arnold asked.

"Yeah."

"What do they do, exactly?"

"I don't know, they just make everything better." Helga said. "And stop dodging the question!"

"Alright, let's calm down a little bit. Why don't you tell me why this is such a big deal for you." Arnold said, calmly, turning off of the freeway.

"Arnold, that's extremely weird for me to talk about. I'm not even sure if my father knows that I have…_that_. I wasn't raised with a guy who was in tune to women, I was raised by a guy who had two daughters and a wife, and probably wouldn't know a tampon if it stabbed him in the eye. So naturally, discussing such a topic with you is going to be a little weird."

"Well, it's not weird for me, but then again, I'm not prudish, like you-"

"I'm not _prudish_!" Helga interrupted. "Okay, so let's say, hypothetically speaking, that yes. The reason why I was acting all cranky and mean, was because I was on my period. You're saying that you wouldn't look at me funny, or avoid me, or mysteriously refuse to borrow my pen for the same expanse of time each month?"

"No. I wouldn't. I told you, the boarders are way less inhibited about that stuff." he reasoned, pulling up the paralegal office.

"Well, that may be all fine and dandy for you, but it's still awkward for me. And I hope you won't think that I don't trust you, but I'd rather not discuss such a bodily function with you." she said, crossing her arms. "And in case you were wondering, I forgive you. My anger has dissipated."

"And I'm sorry too…" Arnold said, opening his car door, and standing outside of the car door. "I'm sorry that you're such a complete prude, and you can't take a joke. See you inside!' He said, slamming his door and jetting toward the office building. Helga stepped out of the car, knowing that she wouldn't catch up to him in time, but slamming her own door and calling out after him.

"I am not a _prude_!" she shouted, stomping her way toward the tall building, and ignoring the slightly ajar window of the shiny black BMW next to her, filled with the very paralegals she worked for, who decided to carpool and park in the shadier intern parking-lot, all the while observing their eager applicants.

* * *

_So, I told you guys at the beginning that a lot (mostly all) of these little oneshots are based off of something that happened to me, right?_

_This happened today (or Monday, depending on when you're reading it). No lies. The conversation in the car between Arnold and Helga is pretty much verbatim to what was said this afternoon. Only difference is that the guy who was so bold as to ask about my "cycle", was more my big brother's friend than mine, so it was noticeably more awkward. Actually, while we were talking, I said, "Do you know how awkward this conversation is?" and then the idea popped in my head. I know I said I'd only write a few of these, but awkward things keep happening to me. I can't help it._

_AIL: Art Imitates Life:_

_-Vasilos, Arthur and Klos, are the names of my Drawing I, Drawing II and Photography teachers._

_-He really did call me prudish. I know, I know. I was angry too. But then again, you guys have read my whack kissing scenes, so maybe you knew that already too…_

_Later days!_

_**Read this, por favor: **I was planning to post the next chapter of The Compromise, but I've found myself stuck. The chapter is long, which is good, but it's purely filler. Okay, not entirely, but a lot of it is. There are some nice parts, but I'm not sure how much I love it. So, if anyone has any suggestions...any at all, I'll be more than happy to hear them. Really. Because if I don't get any suggesttions, I'm just going to post whatever pops into my head, and I have a feeling it's going to sting your eyes. Just a warning..._

_-PointyObjects_


	8. Bright Red Man Thong

**Awkward**

**Chapter Eight: Bright Red Man Thong**

* * *

Helga walked up the stairs backwards, careful of the heavy black case in her arms, and what it held. She knew the consequences of damaging the property and wasn't prepared for the ire of her friend heaped upon the costly bill that would result in paying for a new one. The cello was to Phoebe what Helga's anthology of poetry was to her: irreplaceable. So when she asked Helga to take it home for her, Helga couldn't ignore the seriousness in Phoebe's voice.

Once at the top of the staircase, Helga leaned the heavy instrument against the nearest wall, and took a breath. It was early evening and none of the lights in the Hyerdahl home were on, including the upstairs hallway. It was too dark to do much, but Helga wasn't concerned with turning on any lights unless she absolutely had to. Resuming her work, she dragged it across the carpeted hallway and in front of the familiar bedroom door. Balancing the case against one hip, she used the other to nudge the door open.

Before she could grope along the wall for a light switch, Helga heard something moving around in the room. Clutching the narrowest part of the cello case, Helga prepared to lift it, thrown off my it's weight.

"Hello?" she called into the room, still hesitating to open the door completely. She repeated the call again, only louder. The sound of shifting in the small room continued, and Helga grew anxious.

"I can use this as a weapon!" she threatened, lifting the instrument only a few inches off the floor. Gathering her bravery, Helga kicked the door open, and lifted the cello case inside. "Who's here?!" she shouted into the darkness.

"Helga?" came a confused voice from the center of the room.

Helga, momentarily distracted, set the cello down again, and resumed feeling around the bedroom wall for a light switch. "_Gerald_? What are you-"

"Don't turn on the light!" he shouted back.

"Why? Why are you in Phoebe's-holy crap…" Helga said, clapping one hand over her mouth and shakily holding onto the cello with the other. Before she could entirely decipher the sight before her, Gerald spoke.

"It's not what it looks like!" he began, attempting to defend himself. He threw his hands up wildly, and fell off the side of the bed furthest from Helga, clutching a pillow to his barely covered lower half.

Helga's look of astonishment only increased tenfold. "_It's not what it looks like'_?! How can it not be what it looks like?! Gerald you're…" she began, drifting off, and allowing her mind to piece together what she was seeing. Turning from the room, Helga searched her mind frantically for a way to approach the subject of a near-naked Gerald sitting…_laying_ atop Phoebe's bed. The floor and bed sheets were covered in red rose petals, and there were a few vile smelling candles lit about the room. Helga did not fail to notice the bowl of melting vanilla ice cream on the floor near the bed.

'How long has he been here?', Helga asked herself. She most certainly saw him at Phoebe's recital, bearing an armful of flowers and candy for her. 'Did Phoebe not tell him that she was going to dinner with the reps from The Baltimore Symphony Orchestra after the performance?'

"Where's Phoebe?" he asked, daring to speak, after further humiliating himself.

"_Not here_!" Helga said, exasperated. "Oh my gosh, I'm not seeing Gerald in a bright red man thong, right now. I'm not, I'm not, I'm not…" she repeated to herself, keeping a hand over her eyes.

"It was supposed to be a surprise for Phoebe." Gerald said, in a tone that aimed to muster back some dignity.

Slapping her forehead again, Helga leaned against the opposite side of the doorpost that she rested the cello against. She was certain that her reaction (or presence, for that matter) wasn't what Gerald expected. She began wondering what exactly he _did _expect, but remembering that it would undoubtedly involve her best friend, she silently kept her mind from drifting in those waters.

Helga suddenly felt the need to leave. She was, after all, alone, in her friend's house, with her friend's, very nearly naked boyfriend. Aside from astoundingly awkward, the situation could get her into a lot of trouble. Blindingly leaning the cello against the nearest wall, not daring to let her gaze travel back toward the bed, or the person seated on the other side of it, Helga spoke again. "I'm leaving now." she said, beginning to head back down the hallway.

"Wait!" she heard from the room, followed by another bump, that could only be Gerald tripping over something or further injuring himself. "Where's…where's…

And as if by cue, the front door swung open noisily and slammed to the tune of footsteps coming up the stairs.

"I'm here!" came the tiny voice, growing louder as it came closer to Helga and Gerald.

"Fantastic…" Helga grumbled, looking for a place to hide. Gerald's thoughts were apparently along the same lines.

"Quick! Hide me!" he said, clutching a pillow to his midsection. Without thinking, Helga turned at his voice.

"No! You've made Phoebe's bed, and now you have to lie in it!" Helga said, slamming Phoebe's bedroom door on Gerald, moving toward the stairwell. She abruptly met Phoebe, bubbly from her recent performance, no doubt. "Phoebe!" she exclaimed, in a high voice, denoting her nervousness.

"Hi, Helga. I saw your car outside; is my cello okay?" she asked, her voice lowering momentarily.

"Of course it is…" Helga said, reassuringly. "I was just about to leave." Helga's glance shifted to Phoebe's door.

"Is everything alright, Helga?" Phoebe asked, noticing the nervous way in which Helga was looking around the narrow hallway.

"Phoebe, I'm going to be as honest with you as I know how…" Helga began, placing a hand on her friend's shoulder. "If you have the sneaking suspicion that something is amiss in your home, then you'd be one hundred percent correct. And as much as I'd like to tell you what it is, I'm afraid that any explanation on my part would be lacking and derisory to the point of laughter. This, my dear friend, is something you must experience on your own." Helga said, taking in a deep breath.

"Helga-" Phoebe began, clearly confused, only to be interrupted.

"And above all else, I want you to know that I had absolutely _nothing_ to do with whatever is awaiting you in your room. Goodnight." she finished, calmly walking down the hallway and to the front door, leaving Phoebe standing in the hallway, baffled.

Despite heading downstairs, with the façade of leaving, Helga stuck around, standing in the Hyerdahl's doorway only until she heard a loud, high-pitched scream followed by an incoherent and rapid string of Japanese.

* * *

Ehh…I'm not sure about the ending. Oh well. This was an idea that Hellerick Ferlibay gave me in a recent review (in which he gave me some pretty great advice), and I gave it a whirl. Not my usual "awkwardness", but, I think it's nice. The next one will probably be my most favoritest, and you will see why…when I post it.

There is no Art Imitating Life section for this chapter, because nothing remotely resembling this has happened to me. Thank Goodness...

Later days!

-PointyObjects


	9. Life Drawing

**Awkward**

**Chapter Eight: Life Drawing**

* * *

"Seventy….Seventy-five…Eighty-five…a dollar…" Helga said, dispensing coin after coin into the vending machine. She was looking to get rid of the mass of petty change that she was holding onto and decided that a brief trip to the cafeteria before her first afternoon class would do the trick. Shoving the remainder of her money into her pocket, she made her selection, and silently prayed that the bag of chips wouldn't get stuck.

They got stuck.

Instead of fuming and mercilessly attacking the machine, Helga smiled and flattened her palm against the spot where the snack food was caught. She began beating lightly against the glass, directly over the spot where her food was, before alternating between a lower spot on the glass. After a few seconds, she brought both hands to the same spot on opposite sides of the machine, and beamed as the bag fell out of it's place and into the designated area for removal.

"The Fonz does it again." Helga said, pulling the small bag out of the machine and tearing it open. Popping a chip into her mouth, Helga gathered her things and turned in the direction of her building. Stealing a glance at her watch, she saw that she only had four minutes until class, and was currently carrying half of her body weight in charcoal paper and art supplies. Trudging toward her class, she balanced her load, and turned the corner, walking as quickly a she could manage. When the time came to exit the cafeteria, Helga turned completely, exposing her back to the glass door and leaning backwards to open it.

"Need a hand?"

"More like two or three…" Helga replied, fixated on balancing her things and not the voice aimed at her.

"Here, let me take this…" the voice said, reaching for her canvas bag and art case, leaving her with her bag of chips, purse and backpack.

"Thanks; you didn't have to take everything…" Helga began, looking up at the person speaking to her. She stood shocked, for a moment, before opening her mouth to confirm (or deny) her suspicions.

"No problem; I don't mind being the nice guy every once and a while." Arnold replied, grinning down at her.

"Arnold?" Helga asked, stopping in the doorway. She didn't have to ask, really, but she wasn't one to regularly assume things. He wore the same short haircut (at least in comparison to most of the guys that stalked the campus, whose hair rivaled her own in length), the same build, and the same lopsided, boyish grin. From this angle, she could see the corner of the tiny tattoo that Arnold had gotten on the back of his neck. It was small and simple, three letters: "M S A", the first letters of his parent's names, as well as his own, in memoriam. Helga found herself smiling, remembering when he called her, complaining about having to sleep on his face for a few days.

"In the flesh." he joked, offering her a free arm for an awkward hug.

"How've you been?" Helga asked, beaming after their brief embrace. She hadn't seen Arnold in upwards of a year; even when he came home to visit, she always seemed to miss him somehow. The two had been thick as thieves in high school, but with the pressures and distance created by college, the two grew apart, and spoke rarely.

"Pretty good." he replied, moving forward, through the door, Helga following in stride. "What about you?" he asked, equally happy to see her.

"Oh, I'm fine." Helga said, feeling immediately self-conscious. She began biting at her lower lip, dreading the lull in conversation. "So, what brings you here?" she asked. This time, she opened the door for him, and pointed toward the hallway where her class was located. There was little need for the former gesture, as Arnold moved around the building naturally.

"I always come home around this time of year. Not much to do around campus during the summer…"

Helga lightly punched his arm. " I meant, what are you doing _here_, on _my _college campus, you dolt."

"Oh, I'm…signed up for a summer workshop." he answered, hesitatingly. "I thought it'd be a good way to pass the time."

"Me too." Helga said. "I guess you must be doing some work on the side too, huh?"

"A little, here and there." Arnold answered elusively. Helga raised an eyebrow, but disregarded it. She hadn't seen Arnold in over a year; what business of hers what line of work he was in? "Is this your class?" Arnold said, stopping in front of a wooden door that read "Life Drawing" on a piece of white paper that was taped to the side of the door.

"Yeah…how'd you know?" she asked, holding out her hands to take her things back.

"Lucky guess." he responded, gingerly handing her belongings to her. Once he saw that she was able to balance everything, Arnold stepped back. "You gonna be okay?"

"I'll manage." Helga replied, shifting to hold the canvas bag against her hip. "So, maybe I'll see you around?" she asked, hope coating her voice.

Arnold chuckled before replying, "You'd be surprised."

Helga smiled, but tilted her head in confusion. Before she could turn and enter the classroom (obviously late), Arnold called out to her again, asking where the nearest men's bathroom was. She didn't notice until then the blue duffel bag around his neck. She wondered silently if he was taking a fitness class.

"Right down the hall." she said, pointing to the other end of the corridor. "The third door on the right, past the water fountain."

"Thanks." he said, waving over his shoulder. "See you around."

Helga turned into her classroom, smiling at the brief reunion. Looking around, she was happy to see that class hadn't started yet, and she had a few minutes to set up. Resting her things down against the wall farthest from the door, Helga grabbed a tall metal easel and began arranging her charcoal paper on the wooden board. The paper was large, and blocked off sight from most of the classroom, if she sat close enough. Placing her chair about an arm's length from the easel, Helga took a seat, and opened her art case, pulling out her necessary supplies.

"Ready for another model?" came a soft, yet mature voice next to her.

Helga sighed, denoting her frustration. "Don't remind me." she said, looking up dryly, and meeting a pair of large brown eyes. Candy was nearly twice her age (possibly more), and was always the first to talk to her when she came to class. She was at least a head shorter than Helga, with dark, brown hair cut into a conservative bob. Even into her forties, her ever-present, wide smile was accented with metal braces that lined her teeth. Their difference I age wasn't surprising; the class wasn't worth any credits, so Helga didn't expect anyone her age to be joining. She was the youngest member of the advanced drawing class, just reaching twenty a few months prior. Candy was a devoted artist, and mother, and stored a wealth of knowledge under her short brown hair.

"Maybe this one will be better…" came a voice from her right. No need to guess who that one was from. Helga turned to find Audrey scribbling in her thick sketchbook, her bright red hair falling over her shoulder, not bothering to look up. Like Candy, Audrey was much older than Helga, but instead of just being an artist, she was simply talented. She dabbled in everything; interior design, horseback riding, piano…and excelled at everything. Helga silently aspired to be like her one day.

"If by 'better' you mean, he doesn't fall asleep and ruin everyone's work, then yeah, this one might be better." Helga said, rummaging through her case. Without saying anything, Helga chastised herself. She meant to pick up more charcoal before class, but her encounter with Arnold distracted her from the task.

"Does Mrs. A. have any more vine in her office?" Helga asked the two, who nodded towards the open door. Getting up from her seat, Helga laughed at Candy and Audrey's calls to "Hurry back" lest she miss the model. Helga rolled her eyes remembering the last model that their instructor hired to pose for them. He was ridiculously plain, boring, and aside from falling asleep during the sketching session, he critiqued everyone's portrayal of him after class was over. The teacher asked everyone to tape their work on a wall in the classroom for peer evaluation, and the model, named Mark, attempted to demean Helga's work because she apparently "made his nose too wide". If he was the model again, Helga had no qualms about feigning an aneurism to get out of class. After searching her teacher's desk for a few sticks of vine charcoal, Helga walked back into classroom, and walked to her seat, too busy inspecting the sticks to look up.

"We should have bet on it…" she heard Candy say. "I told you this one would be better."

"What?" Helga asked, reaching for her art case again, this time looking for some kneaded rubber and a chamois cloth.

"The model…" Audrey said, her voice barely audible over the movement of paper, as the rest of the students got ready to begin sketching. Before Helga could ask Audrey to repeat herself, the instructor spoke.

"Ladies and gentleman, we're about to start our ascent into the final stage in the curriculum: Nude Studies." Mrs. A said, excitedly.

Helga turned sharply toward Audrey. "_Nude Studies_?! I didn't know this was a _nude _session!"

Audrey smiled, remembering Helga's youth. "Don't worry. The awkwardness melts away after a few minutes."

Helga sat back, hiding behind her giant sheet of paperand the corkboard that was wider than her shoulders, and continued listening to Mrs. Arthur. Nudity didn't bother her too much; she already sat in on one nude modeling session that year. The only difference was that the model was female, whereas this one was obviously male.

'_Please don't be Mark, please don't be Mark, please don't be Mark…' _Helga chanted in her head, keeping her eyes tightly shut. Even when clothed, Helga noticed the ripples of thick skin that pressed eagerly against his tight blue shirt, and she the last thing she wanted to do was to draw them..._naked_.

"The session will last three hours, and you may begin…now." Mrs. A concluded, before fluttering of somewhere. After a few seconds more of hiding, Helga grabbed her borrowed piece of charcoal and raised it to the paper. Peering over the top of the sheet, Helga released a breath of relief. Even from behind, she could tell that the model definitely wasn't Mark. His build was more defined and muscular; wide shoulders tapering out to narrow waist and back. Anything lower was hidden from Helga. Even hidden behind her easel, she still didn't want anyone to know she was ogling.

Steadying her hand, Helga began marking where she would draw his head and back. Glancing from her paper to the model, she stopped abruptly when something caught her eye. Right where the man's blonde hairline began to recede into the nape of his neck, Helga stared at the black markings there. Mrs. A wasn't usually in the habit of hiring models with tattoos, but she clearly made an exception. Helga squinted from across the room to read the inscription.

"_M…S…A…_" she read aloud, briefly confused. When realization hit her like a semi-truck, she gasped loudly and promptly dropped her piece of charcoal.

A few eyes turned to look at her, but most either looked away upon seeing no emergency, or ignored her altogether. One pair remained focused; the head turning and lingering in her direction. Arnold smiled wickedly at her over his shoulder, and mouthed a single word, making Helga's jaw fall slack.

'_Surprise._'

* * *

_I know I say this with all of them, but that was fun. This was based off of a dream I had; that my ex came back to town for winter break and was posing for my drawing class. I have taken a few drawing classes, but, thankfully, I've done no nude studies. I was supposed to last semester, but my teacher couldn't find anyone to model nude for a reasonable price. Oh well, I didn't mind. This year, I may be taking a life drawing class, where there will, without a doubt, be a nude studies portion. In fact, I think it's at least 40 percent nude studies. Oh joy._

_Art Imitates Life (literally…because this one is about art…get it?):_

_-At the ripe old age of 20, I was the youngest person in my last drawing class. They called me the "Baby" but in a good way. Once, we were looking at slide of my teacher's work (She's a painter) and, I was adjusting the ribbon that I wore in my hair, and I lost my balance and almost fell out of my seat. When my teacher asked what was wrong, I just said. "I was fixing my ribbon", but because my chin was pressed against ny chest, it sounded like I was saying "bibbon", instead of "ribbon", which really did make me sound like a baby._

_-Candy and Audrey are named after the only people in my Drawing II class who seemed to like me. They were both older than me, but they were so cool (and both amazing artists) that I didn't mind the age gap. That's why I like Community College; there's a plethora of people there from every walk of life ._

_-The model we had for most of the class was very plain looking and fell asleep everyday. It made it very hard to sketch him. And he did actually tell me, at the end of class one day, that I made his nose too wide. Idiot._

_The next installment of Awkward will be the last (and my favorite), so stay tuned. Thanks!_

-PointyObjects


	10. Pâté en croûte

**

* * *

**

Awkward

**Chapter Ten: ****Pâté en croûte **

* * *

"Have you ever been here before?"

And so began another cringe-worthy "date".

Helga looked up, and smiled, shaking her head. He was nice enough, though somewhat transparent. She originally met him at a dinner luncheon the weekend prior that her father was hosting for some of his business associates. At first, Helga had no intention of going, but decided at the last minute, that, if nothing else, she could get a free meal out of it. When she met Corey, she was surprised to find that he too, was anything but thrilled to be in the company of his parents and numerous other business tycoons. They searched the banquet hall of the hotel, looking for other, poor souls, dragged to such an event by their parents, but found none and spent the remainder of the evening with one another.

Helga surmised that she got along so well with him on that night because A) they were the only two people in the room under the age of 21, B) They spent most of the night laughing at the inebriated businessman and women in the room and C) she was simply bored. After a fourteen minute car ride to the restaurant, Helga could already see that they shared little, if anything in common. When she stepped in the car, he was listening to a classical music station. She, herself, didn't mind classical music, but could only listen to it when angry. It calmed her down. In such a case, it only proved to make her feel more bored. Once the two arrived at the restaurant, Corey didn't open his car door or the restaurant door for her, and when placed at a table, he pulled out his own chair and sat, leaving her standing. Helga was never used to having such chivalrous deeds done for her, but when the occasion presented itself, she didn't mind. She (and the hostess who escorted them to their table) rolled their eyes, and Helga yanked her own chair out from underneath the table and sat.

From the time they sat down to the present, Corey spoke endlessly. He commented on everything; the nearness of the kitchen to his seat, the size of the room, the lighting in the room, and Helga was about to stick the lit candlestick into her ear, just to muffle the sound. Despite Corey's numerous vices, She had to admit, he was relatively good looking, and friendly. But only if he was being quiet.

Distracting herself with the menu, Helga looked at the entrees, attempting to pronounce all of the words on the page. She didn't even notice the waiter, standing at the table, pen and pad in hand, ready to take their orders. Helga heard him ask what they wanted to drink, and was about to speak from behind her menu, when Corey interrupted her.

"We'll have two Strawberry Lemonades, and two glasses of water for the table. With a lemon wedge, please." Corey said, smiling up at the waiter.

Helga's chin nearly grazed the covered tabletop. He was ordering for her! And he wasn't even ordering the right things! Clearing her throat, she directed Corey's gaze back to her, and shot him a look of disapproval and slight shock.

"I'm allergic to strawberries, and I don't take my water with a lemon." she said, simply. Corey looked stunned, and attempted to search the drink menu for something to satisfy her.

"Oh, well then, how about a-"

"I will have a Coke, light ice, cubed." she said, never taking her eyes off of Corey. Thrusting her drink menu toward the standing waiter. "Merci, garcon." Helga only spoke in French when she was upset, or when speaking to the only other person she knew that would put up with her speaking foreign languages.

"Nous sommes le même âge, _fille_…" He said, smiling as he took the drink menu from her.

_We are the same age, girl. _Helga translated the expression in her head, and turned to stare at the waiter. Looking down at her, and smiling was Arnold, wearing a pressed, white shirt and black dress pants. Like the other waiters, a black apron was tied around his hips, obviously meant to hold his writing pad. Once again, her chin dropped, shocked to see him again.

After Scheck's plan fell through to turn half of Hillwood into a typical "mall-town", people were suddenly more appreciative of the tiny suburb, and in a single year, 36 community improvement groups were instituted. From there, they filled potholes, repaired condemned property and rebuilt the crestfallen landmarks of the city. One, in particular, thought it best to build more schools, and with the approval of the school board and the city council, five new schools were built in only 6 years. Because new schools were coming up, the neighborhoods were split into jurisdictions; depending on where a child lived, they would attend a certain school. Up until junior high, most of Arnold and Helga's friends went to the same school. But when High School rolled around, they were separated, most heading for the new schools, while some stayed behind. Among them, Helga and Gerald, because of their locale stayed and attended Eastside Hillwood High School, while Phoebe and Arnold went to Westside. They saw each other often the first two or so years of high school, when their teams played each other, and in general, since the distances between their homes had not changed. As the years, progressed, they saw little of each other, though Helga kept in touch with Phoebe, and Arnold with Gerald. Nonetheless, it was rare that the four hung out all at once.

Helga was meaning to ask Phoebe how Arnold was doing, but never got up the nerve. She still thought of him often, but surmised that he forgot about her long ago. In the tenth grade, she was sent to West for a French class, and was pleased to find that Arnold was in the class as well. After that year, her own school taught their own French classes, and she didn't see him that much afterwards. While in the class, they talked constantly, and despite learning little "educational" French, they could carry on comical conversations with one another.

Leaping up from her seat, Helga enveloped him in a hug, and spoke excitedly. "Arnold! Que faites-vous ici ?" _What are you doing here?_

Arnold pulled back, ignoring the snaky looking guy across the table from her. "Je suis votre serveur, naturellement…" _I'm your waiter, of course._

"Naturellement…" Helga replied. _Of course_. Helga found herself smiling when she heard a loud cough from behind her. She was about to ask the patron to be quiet until she realized it was Corey, still seated, looking overwhelmingly uncomfortable.

_I am supposed to be on date with him…talk about awkward…._ Stepping back from Arnold, Helga looked to Corey. "Corey, ceci est…I mean, this is Arnold. Arnold, this is Corey." She said, skipping the entire, "He's my…" portion. The situation was already uncomfortable…for Corey, at least. She, however, could not have been happier.

The two exchanged salutations while Helga took her seat again. Arnold repeated their drink order (subtracting one Strawberry Lemonade and One Glass of Water), before smiling once again at Helga and leaving.

Helga watched him walk off, smiling as well. _'What a small world…' _she thought.

"I didn't know you were allergic to strawberries. Or that you knew French…" Corey said, leaning forward in his seat.

'_That's because you never asked, Dillweed.' _Helga thought, meanly. "Yeah, the strawberries thing, that's been around since I was little. And I only learned French a few years ago. Arnold and I were actually in the same French class…" she said.

Corey nodded, raising his eyebrows, thinking to himself how that would serve to explain some things. Their closeness was still unnerving, but he brushed it off. This Arnold was a _waiter_, and he was the son of an electronics tycoon set to inherit a business the millisecond he hit twenty-one. No competition. "You seem to speak it very well. Do you know any other words?" he asked, trying to be interested. He didn't know a word of French, outside of how to order a cheese omelette, and couldn't care either way. Helga was hot, and he could bear listening to her yammer on in French if it got him an invitation to her house at the end of the evening.

"_Tu es mal poli _

_Je t'avais dit de pas me tutoiyé _

_Nous n'avons rien gardé ensemble _

_Et n'payons pas le meme loyer _

_Tu postiyonne _

_Et ton visageet trop pret _

_Ton alène mesoule jai bien envi de te faire tomber _

_Sa n'est pas jol de fixer mon décolter _

_Regarde plutot mes fesse au moin jverrai pa que jme fait maté _

_Sa ne Métonne pas .. que tu sois seul _

_Si tu continue comme sa japel meshomme pour qu'il tassome." _

Helga sat, smiling mischievously and laughing at the look on Corey's face when she finished singing. She wasn't sure if she pronounced everything correctly, and only knew what a fraction of the words actually meant. Nevertheless, it was fun watching him look at her quizzically.

"Okay, so what does it mean?" he asked, joining her in laughter.

Helga opened her mouth to reply, but found herself interrupted when Arnold came back, carrying their drinks on a large black tray. "Your drinks," he said announcing himself. "For you, a strawberry lemonade and water." he said to Corey, setting the glasses in front of him. "And for the lady, A coke." he said, looking at Helga.

"Thank you." Helga said, opening her straw and gliding it into her glass.

"You're welcome." Arnold replied. Helga expected him tot take their meal orders, when he said, quietly, "Non gentil…" _Not nice__…_

Helga looked shocked, surprised that he heard her singing from around the corner. She was aware that he knew what the song meant in it's entirety. Regardless, she looked at him and replied. "Est-ce un mensonge ?" _Is it a lie? _He knew that she wasn't having a good time with Corey, even if she didn't tell him.

Shaking his head at her, he didn't reply, but went on to take their orders and Helga knew that she was right, whether or not Arnold replied. After taking their order and walking off, the night proceeded much the same. Corey would attempt to impress Helga by pointing out the architecture of the restaurant, and she would sigh and look bored. Arnold would show up to the table, bringing with him their food, or a refill, or more engaging conversation for Helga in French, that would leave Corey excluded and enraged.

At the end of their evening, Arnold graced the table once more, asking if they wanted any dessert.

"How's your Key Lime Pie?" Helga asked, excitedly.

Arnold smiled. Helga loved Key Lime Pie, and aside from the orders given to him by his manager to always ask if the patrons wanted to order dessert, he planned to ask, just to see if she'd order some. "It's amazing. I bring a slice home pretty much every night."

Helga beamed. "It's settled then. I'll-"

"Actually, I'm kind of tired. Can we just have the check please?" Helga looked from Corey to Arnold for a minute, shocked at the hint of edge on his voice when addressing Arnold. Once Arnold nodded and left the table, Corey relaxed, and put a hand on his chest. This 'Arnold' was ruining everything. The second he'd walk away, the light would leave Helga's face and her shoulders would drop. He wasn't any closer to her bedroom at that moment than he was an hour before meeting her last weekend.

"Are you okay?" she asked, half-bored, half-concerned.

"Yeah, I think I might have eaten too much." he said, lying.

"That's no surprise; the food was great." Helga said. She wanted to sample their Key Lime Pie, but Corey's tiny tummy was obviously going to make that an impossibility. She shrugged, inwardly, reminding herself to order one the next time she came. And there would definitely be a next time.

"Your check." Arnold said, gracing the table briefly, much to Helga's disappointment.

Without speaking, Corey slipped a few twenties into the black, leather case, which held their receipt, and took the napkin off of his lap, and placed it on the table. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go use the restroom." he said, leaving the table abruptly.

Helga said, somewhat dumbfounded, and both Corey and Arnold's curt departures, and finished off her Coke.

* * *

Fifteen minutes after closing, Arnold walked out from behind the kitchen area, thanking Bernie for saving him an extra slice of pie. Carrying the two, white containers, he was happy to be leaving work early. Walking toward the door, he noticed that someone left the lights on over half of the dining area and, he changed his course to turn them off. Turning the corner, he was shocked to find a table still occupied; the booth that he finished serving almost an hour ago.

"Helga?" he said, watching her turn around. Her table was cleared off, and cleaned. Another waiter brought the check booklet back to him, so he was certain that Helga and…What's his face, Snorey, (from the disinterested way that Helga looked at him) left. "What are you doing here?"

"Corey said he had to use the bathroom, but he hasn't come back. I think he's sick." she said, not looking like she cared too much.

"I just left the men's room, there's no one in there." Arnold said.

"Well, that's just fantastic." Helga said, sliding out of her chair, and putting on her coat. Arnold took a moment to take in Helga's appearance, noting how the green and white cotton dress made her eyes look. He remembered her telling him how impractical heels were, due to her height, and on her feet she wore a pair of flat white shoes. The white jacket went perfectly with the ensemble and set off her slightly tanned skin. Her hair was down, pinned to one side while the rest of it framed her small, circular face. "Can I have a ride home?' she asked, gripping the strap of her handbag.

"I can't believe he left you…" Arnold said, escorting her outside and to his car.

"I saw it coming." Helga said, smiling, despite the chill in the air.

"How?" Arnold said, opening the passenger side door for her. Helga smiled at the gesture, having been deprived of any such gallantry for the entire evening.

"You're pretty intimidating…" she said, slipping in the seat. She watched as he closed the door for her and came around to climb in next to her.

"Can you hold these for me?" he asked, handing her the white containers, and putting on his seat belt. She nodded, and leaned back as the car started. "So, how'd you meet Snorey?" he said, not hesitating to use the ridiculous nickname he made up for the boring individual.

"Snorey? That's pretty good. Very fitting. I actually met him last weekend at a business function for my dad."

"Oh, mixing business with pleasure, are we?" Arnold said.

"Definitely not. He was so boring Arnold, I almost stabbed myself. 'Hey, did you know, that platform over there is called a flying buttress, and the barrel vaulting in the main corridor is developed from early renaissance and blar dee blar dee blar blar…" Helga said, imitating Corey.

"Sounds like a 'barrel' of fun." Arnold said, and Helga laughed. There was a reason why she enjoyed his company so much. He didn't might her jokes, or incessant laughter, or strange humor. Mostly because he was equally weird, but she felt entirely comfortable around him, and loved it.

"Why don't we hang out sometime? When you're off duty, that is." Helga said, casually.

"I don't see why that can't be arranged." Arnold said, smiling wickedly in the darkness of his car.

"How's tomorrow?" Helga asked, somewhat eagerly.

"I work until five. If you come by around…five-fifteen, we can drive down to the harbor. If that's okay." Arnold suggested.

"It's a date." Helga said, looking at Arnold, as he pulled up to her house. She didn't realize how slow Corey drove. It took Arnold a span for five minutes to travel the same distance that it took Corey to drive in fifteen minutes. She didn't even notice that she lived to close to the restaurant, and thought that she probably could have walked. Looking at Arnold, she decided that this was a much more welcome alternative.

"On one condition…' Helga said. Shooting a glance to the containers in her lap, she smiled wider. "I get to have one of these slices."

"What?" Arnold asked.

"Please?" Helga asked, clasping her hands together, in preparation to beg. She needed something sweet, and having prepared herself earlier for the dessert, she was especially disappointed when she didn't get it.

"Fine." Arnold answered. "On one condition…" Arnold said, quietly.

"Yeah?" Helga asked, matching his tone.

Leaning forward, Arnold gingerly tilted Helga's chin up and brushed his lips over hers. She was pleasantly surprised to find that his lips held the faintest taste of key lime on them, causing her to smile against his mouth. When Helga endeavored to lean forward on him, in response, but before she could so much as let her eyes fall completely closed, he pulled back, looking triumphant.

Shaking off her nerves, Helga attempted to look cool and casual, as she asked on what condition she'd be going out with him the next day.

"Don't bring anybody with you." he said, his thumb still on her chin, drawing tiny circles below her mouth.

Helga smiled. "Convenu." she said. _Agreed_.

* * *

And so ends the Chronicles of Awkwardia! If you're thinking that this isn't terribly awkward, then you're right. Thisis more...I don't know "cute" than truly awkward. But it's nice. I like it.This was one of the funnest things I've done (in regards to writing) in a long time. I was very conflicted on how to write this last installment, but I'm very happy with this. It was going to be a stand alone one shot, but I think it sums up "Awkward" and ends it in a good way. I noticed that in only one of these ficlets did Arnold and Helga actually kiss, so…there's another kiss for you.

I've never written a truly "bad guy", but I think Corey might be the first. He's not a nice guy at all. No siree. And as for the French...I can't speak French. At least not well. Like Corey, all I really know how to do is order a cheese omelette (Omelette du frommage, si vou plait?), so I got all my translations from a website. So, the translations are in italic after they're spoken, and the title is "Pie" in French. And the song that Helga sang is translated as:

_"You are impolite  
I told you not to address me by using "tu".  
We have nothing kept together,  
and we don't pay the same interest  
You spit,  
and your face is too close.  
Your awl bugs me I really want to forget about you/let you go.  
This is not pretty to reveal the neckline.  
Look at me instead my butt, at least I will not see that I am being checked out.  
It doesnt surprise me...that you are alone  
If you continue like this I'll call my friends to beat you up."_

Very funny. But as Arnold said, not nice...

Even though Awkward is "over", there's a possibility of me updating. When I say "over", I mean the regular updates are done, but if something awkward happens to me (like, oh say….tomorrow…because that's the kind of life that I live) then, by all means, I'll cook something up for you. So thanks a ton, for all the suggestions and reviews, and everything. Thank you to everyone who read and/or reviewed! Bye for now!

-PointyObjects


	11. Beware of the Cougar

**Awkward**

**Chapter 11: Beware of the Cougar**

* * *

"Where is everyone? The movie's about to start!"

"Calm down, Helga. They're probably all still opening Mommy's Day presents." the boy next to her suggested. "speaking of which, why aren't you spending the afternoon with your mom?"

"Olga took mother and father dearest out for lunch. For the sake of my stomach, I opted out." Helga said, cringing. And afternoon with her family was, to her, a cruel and unusual form of punishment. "I managed to convince them to give me ride here though. I really hate not having a car."

"Three more months and you can get your license…no big deal."

"Whatever. I just wish I didn't have to inherit Olga's old car. My dad was this close to buying me my own car, and Olga offers up hers because she's buying a _hybrid_."

"Your sister's pretty amazing."

"Ugh, don't remind me."

"No, really, she's smart, she's funny, and everybody likes her." He continued on listing Olga's admirable attributes in his head, ignoring the look of shock on Helga's face.

"By all means, sing more of my sister's praises, would ya?"

"You know, I've always kind of _liked _her…" he said. Helga looked down on him (though not too far down. He had always been shorter than her, and even after puberty struck, she had a good inch on the boy), and hung her mouth open.

"You can't be serious."

"What? You didn't know?" he asked.

"No! Do you think I would have gone out with you last year had I known that you liked my sister, who is, may I remind you, twelve years older than us?!" Helga exclaimed.

"Older woman, younger man…there's an intrigue there. I can sense it…" he said, nodding and continuing to walk alongside Helga.

"You're a moron. I knew there was a reason I dumped you."

"I thought that reason was named Arnold?" Sid replied, smartly. Looking up the sidewalk, he smiled. "Speak of the devil…"

Arnold approached the pair, and wrapped his arm around Helga's waist, as the rest of their friends caught up with them. "Hey, what were you two talking about?"

"Just Sid's unhealthy obsession with my sister." Helga replied, simply.

"Let's go; we've probably already missed the previews…" Sid said rolling his eyes, and walking into the theater.

Helga laughed and decided that she wasn't quite done making fun of him yet. "Now that I think about it, you and Olga would make a great couple."

"Really?" Sid asked eagerly. "Ya think so?"

"Yeah, I mean…she's always had terrible taste in men…just because she'd technically be a cougar doesn't mean that streak has to end." Helga finished, smiling wickedly.

"Says the sister who already dated me." Sid replied.

"Touche."

* * *

_See? I told you I'd be occasionally whipping up ideas for Awkward. It's done, but it's not over. Think of it like that. _

_I have hardly played with Sid as a character, outside of Bittersweet Catastrophe and that one little part in Roses. And I kind of like pairing him with Helga. It's more of a funny coupling than a serious coupling. Like myself and that weird guy that all my friends seem to like to pair me with. If we ever got together (NEVER), I'd wear the pants and he'd...do stuff for me. Because I'm violent and I'd make him. __My New Years Resolution should be to play with Sid more, but not only will I break it (like always), but when people ask what my resolution is, and I say "I'm gonna play with Sid a lot more" it just kind of sounds dirty. Just a little. _

_Unfortunately, I've been in this scenario before. After we broke up, my ex told me that he did, at some point, have a brief "thing" for my sister (who was, at the time a senior, and uninterested as him. In fact she thought I was crazy for dating him). And my sister is such an Olga, so that was a double blow. _

_Thanks for reading!_

_-Pointy_Objects_


End file.
